


A Keepsake

by HigherMagic



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dark Will Graham, Emotional Manipulation, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Omega Will Graham, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Scent Kink, Will Graham is a Cannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 08:51:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19269871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic
Summary: As Alpha, when they'd mated, Will was legally his property, to do with as he sees fit – a set of laws Hannibal despises, and Will knows he despises, for they are equals in all things and no bite mark, no ability to knot, no ability to bear young, will change that.But the fact of the matter remains that their past was a product of Hannibal's designs. Now it's Will's turn.





	A Keepsake

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the ABO BigBang - idontfindyouthatinteresting was my partner and made wonderful posters for it (links to the posts at the end).

 

It takes them two years to get to this point. For all Hannibal's careful planning, all his schemes and deductions and relentless control, Will has always managed to remain unpredictable. It is, he thinks, an intrinsic part of his nature – something he even clings to, maybe, in the wake of everything else that had led them to this.

He cannot predict Will. He can read Will, but knowing Will's mood means nothing in the grand scheme of things. He is not a man of indulgences, personal or otherwise. He has gone out to fish in the worst of storms and also remained inside during the most pleasant days. He has pulled Hannibal to bed and kissed him until Hannibal forgot everything except the scent of Will, the cling of his wet thighs, the rake of his claws on Hannibal's back – and he has also shut and locked the bedroom door and made Hannibal sleep on the couch, regardless of whether he's in a good mood or not.

It is not, Hannibal thinks, so much a dogged refusal of routine, but something pointedly aimed at Hannibal to mess up _his_ routine. For too long, Hannibal exercised his will and control over Will. He poisoned his mind, corrupted his way of thinking, gave him nightmares and scars. As Alpha, when they'd mated, Will was legally his property, to do with as he sees fit – a set of laws Hannibal despises, and Will knows he despises, for they are equals in all things and no bite mark, no ability to knot, no ability to bear young, will change that.

But the fact of the matter remains that their past was a product of Hannibal's designs. Now it's Will's turn.

He does his best to appease his mate. Will has been a solitary creature all his life, solely responsible for his own pleasure, but now that's Hannibal's job – his duty, which he eagerly shoulders. If Will is hungry, Hannibal will feed him. If he's cold, Hannibal will keep him warm. If he wants to hunt, or to fish, Hannibal makes sure he has the supplies he needs and that there is gas in the car. If Will wants space – though it pains Hannibal to do it, he gives his mate that too, until Will calls for him.

When Will brings him meat, Hannibal cooks it without complaint.

He is not unhappy with his lot in life. Any life with Will, in any capacity, is better than no life at all or any life without him. Even if Will hated him, if Will desired nothing more than to have Hannibal around to keep an eye on him, if he woke every morning with a knife pressed to his throat and went to bed cold and alone every night, it wouldn't matter, because it would be with Will.

It took them two years to get to this point. And then;

"I want to have a baby."

He says it the same way he says he wants a glass of wine. Will doesn't ask for anything anymore, nor does he demand. He does not say 'Please', he does not beg. He levels gold-laced eyes at Hannibal from across the dining room table, measures the tension of his shoulders and the give of his throat as he swallows his bite of food.

He sets his fork down and meets Will's gaze. Most Omegas cannot hold eye contact with an Alpha for too long. Will is not most Omegas.

His head tilts, and he straightens in his seat. "Mine?" he asks.

Will's brow creases. He mirrors Hannibal's head tilt and licks his lips, a subtly angry set to his jaw when he replies; "Obviously."

Hannibal does not let his relief show, but the knot of tension in his stomach unwinds rapidly enough to steal his breath. He nods, and then lowers his gaze to Will's empty plate. Will eats everything Hannibal sets in front of him, demands no less or no more – a single piece of control that he allows. Hannibal's domain will always be the kitchen, Will enters and leaves it at his whim but he changes nothing, does no more than watch, and wait, and take what Hannibal offers.

Will is motionless, in the same way a hunting cat is motionless as it watches the herd. He has become a beautiful predator in his own right, feline and fine under Hannibal's care. The Spanish sun has been kind to him, darkened his skin and now his eyes shine as though lit from within. He is strong, and graceful, and beautiful.

Hannibal thinks about that fierce, predatory nature sharpening, growing maternal claws, and his mouth goes dry.

He nods, and says, "Alright."

Will's eyes flash, another flare of agitation coloring his irises until they appear black. " _Alright_ ," he repeats, a question and not a question. Hannibal lifts his chin, for while he is accommodating, he cannot tolerate Will being purposefully incendiary. This cat has claws, but Hannibal has always been a wolf and he's far from neutered.

"Would you prefer I argue?" he asks coolly. "Or, perhaps, you were expecting some Alpha display of desire?" Will huffs, through his nose. "Shall I throw you over my shoulder and carry you to bed?"

"Certainly not," Will says, acidic and sharp. He tends to mimic Hannibal's cadence more acutely when he's angry, like wrath turns his monster black and horned, like the manifestation of Hannibal's nightmare form Will described to him, one night when there was only moonlight and fireflies and both of them moving together like lovers. Before Hannibal got his teeth in Will's neck, and bore Will's bite in return.

Hannibal smiles, and shows his teeth, because he thoroughly enjoys how Will's throat flexes when he does it, as though it aches for them.

"I'd like to know your thoughts."

Hannibal hums, sits back and cradles his glass of wine to his lips. He kisses the rim, breathes in the heavy, syrupy bouquet of it, and takes a sip. Lets Will stew, though he does nothing more than huff another aggravated breath at Hannibal's continued silence.

"I have made it no secret I want you to have a family," Hannibal finally says, setting his wine glass down.

Will's lips twitch, a half-snarl reined in. "Abigail doesn't count," he replies. "Margot's baby doesn't count. You ripped those away from me."

Those wounds are too old to rip open so easily now. If Will seeks to poke at his pride, he is failing. "Yes," he merely says in answer. "But did I cut out your ability to, one day, bear _my_ children? Certainly not."

Will sucks in a breath, a short, sharp thing that might as well be a knife for how hard he winces. His eyes shine, now, not from pleasure or sunlight on the ocean, but there is water in them nonetheless. He turns his face away and Hannibal sees his shirt move as he presses a hand, flat, to the scar Hannibal left on his belly.

"I need your consent," he says, quietly. "I've learned the hard way to ask for that, first."

There is something that catches in his voice, and Hannibal's chest clenches up so harshly that he is almost robbed for breath. His eyes widen and he smells it; smells Will's distress, smells anxiety. It's powerful, overwhelming the wine, the remnants of food. It is, he thinks, a single moment of vulnerability – a manipulation, perhaps, but everything Will does is a manipulation of sorts, just like Hannibal.

Still, knowing it's happening doesn't make him any less helpless to resist it.

He sets down his wine and stands, and Will's eyes snap to him. He is unmoving as Hannibal wipes his mouth and places his napkin over his settled fork, the last ort of the meal forgotten, and he circles the table. He takes Will's hand which is, he confirms, plastered over his scarred stomach. He kneels down and presses his lips to Will's knuckles.

Will's lashes flutter, go low, and he smiles. It is as sharp as a fisherman's hook. "It would be different, if it was your child, wouldn't it?" he asks, and Hannibal swallows, and nods, for that is undoubtedly true. Will sighs, turns in his seat and bends down, elbows on his knees, free hand raking nails through Hannibal's hair, across his scalp. "My Alpha."

 _Yes, yes, I am_. Hannibal wants to say it, but Will already knows. There are a hundred ways Hannibal has proven his devotion and a thousand more he would do if Will merely suggested it. He closes his eyes as Will pets through his hair, only for them to open, wide, when Will tightens his fingers and tugs.

He leans in, tilts Hannibal to the angle he wants, and flattens his other hand on Hannibal's jaw. Their kiss is chaste, at first, it always is, but then Will parts his lips and Hannibal is magnetized to him, helpless as a meteor pulled into orbit. He will crash, and collide with Will, and send them both back to the heavens if that's what Will wants.

He realizes, as Will's lips part and he allows Hannibal's tongue entrance, that he has been lured, caught, _again_. Will has the patience of a fisherman and the sly cunning of a hunter and he is beautiful, he is lovely, and he knows exactly what he's doing.

Will's hands flatten to his shoulders, he parts his knees and allows Hannibal closer, between them. It feels like being dragged out by the tides to drown. Hannibal kisses him again, a low rumble in his chest, for while he teased about an Alpha display of desire, he cannot deny that Will _does_ make him desire. He makes Hannibal crazed, makes him ravenous.

They part with a slick sound, and Will shivers, his lips parted to show Hannibal his tongue and the edge of his teeth. His eyes are a blistering gold, now, a delicate flush on his cheeks as he stares, and stares. Then, he licks his lips, and swallows, and cups Hannibal's neck.

Hannibal wants to growl, wants to lunge and throw Will down on the empty end of this table, mount and impregnate him right here. It would be fitting, he thinks, to conceive a life with Will in the same place they consume others. Circle of life and all that. He has even half-risen to the balls of his feet when Will sits back, drags his nails along the bottom of Hannibal's jaw, shocking him to stillness.

Will's eyes flash. "Do I smell fertile to you, Hannibal?" he asks, cutting and quiet. Hannibal, though he already knows the answer, breathes in deep. While Will smells wonderful – woods and water and mint – he does not hold that sweetness Omegas have when they are ready to bear young. If Hannibal mounted him right now, he would not feel the hard entrance of Will, the descension of his fertile place where an Alpha's – not any Alpha's, _Hannibal's_ – seed would pool and take root.

He presses his lips together, and sighs through his nose. "No, my love," he says, and settles back down to his knees. Will's eyes flash, and his chin lifts. The use of pet names came gradually, first 'My dear Will', then the name was gone, and it turned into 'My darling', 'I need you', 'My beautiful mate'. Finally, 'My love', for Hannibal cannot deny that he loves Will, _God_ how he loves Will, in all his cruelty and all his kindness.

Will's head tilts. "I threw out my suppressants this morning," he says, and Hannibal smiles, leaning into the touch on his cheek when Will presses his knuckles there. Of course he did – Hannibal is not unpredictable. If Will truly had any doubt as to whether Hannibal would agree to start a family with him, he wouldn't have acted at all. He would have waited, in his little boat on the tides of Hannibal's company, for the fish to swim closer and until he saw the shine of scales.

"It will take a while for your body to realign with a heat cycle," Hannibal breathes, lifting his eyes to meet Will's – so lovely, golden-blue, sea stones and filigree and stained glass.

"I might be too old," Will says. "Too broken."

Hannibal frowns, his eyes dropping to Will's stomach, hidden behind his shirt, and his fingers flex and settle on Will's thighs. Will's other hand cards through his hair, and to the outside world it might look like he's soothing Hannibal, but this is not an action meant to soothe – Will demands his attention, all of it. Hannibal lifts his eyes again.

"I don't believe that," he replies.

Will's mouth flattens, then slides upwards at one side. His head tilts, he licks his lips, shows teeth. "Of course you don't," he murmurs, considering almost. He breathes in, slowly, through his nose, breaks eye contact with Hannibal and leans back in his chair, looking up like the rafters might hold the answer to all of life's questions. "You…planned for it, one day, didn't you? When you gutted me."

Hannibal's eyes close, and he swallows, and says, "Yes."

"Even then," Will says, just as quietly. His voice is thick and Hannibal's hands tighten, able to smell Will's sorrow, that age-old pain. He looks up at Will, wants to hold him and pet him and put his teeth in Will's nape, wants to take him to their bed and show Will in the darkness just how much he loves Will. How much he has always loved Will, even in anger, even in sadness. It is in the dark, he has found, planted between Will's thighs, that he is his most honest.

Will swallows, and lets Hannibal's hair go to wipe below his eyes, though no tears have fallen yet. "Do you think you would make a good father?"

"I think I would try," Hannibal replies, and Will's head rights itself so their eyes can meet. Hannibal presses closer, takes Will's hands and kisses them both where they're curled around his own, tight, white-knuckled. "I would try, desperately."

"I guess that's all we can really do, isn't it?" Will says mildly, head tilting. Then, he smiles, and leans down, cups Hannibal's face and brings him up for a kiss. Hannibal meets him eagerly, lips parting when Will's tongue asks entrance, letting Will taste the wine and meat in him. Then, Will withdraws with a shaken exhale, his thighs tightening and pulling together to fight back the first eddies of arousal that Hannibal's kiss, his touch, brings. "I want to believe you."

 _You can, you can_. Hannibal wants to say it. He doesn't.

"You don't have a good track record with things like this."

"Will," Hannibal says, solemn and quiet, as Will rests their foreheads together. This close, Hannibal can breathe him in fully, smell the food and the drink and the mint-sharpness of Will's natural scent. "I would never…"

"Never what," Will demands, and shows his teeth in a snarl. "Hurt me?"

But Hannibal has done that.

"Betray me?"

That, too.

Hannibal swallows.

"I would never forsake a gift from you," he says, after a while. He touches Will gently, at his flanks, flattens his hands wide and warm and Will shivers. This, at least, he can say he has never done. When Will gave him a chance to run, he took it. When Will brings him fish or meat to cook, he takes it with a smile. When Will is cruel to him, or kind to him, he accepts each gift of interaction because it is a gift, Hannibal knows he is only here by the grace of Will's love. "If you want to give me the gift of your fertility, of your trust, and a child, I would never turn it away."

Will blinks, rearing back. His lips press together, eyes searching, searching for deception, for dishonesty, for an ulterior motive. Hannibal has none of that to show, none of it to give.

Finally, Will nods. "I believe that," he says, because he knows what Hannibal knows – every one of Will's gifts are not given lightly, and Hannibal has always known that. His company, his favor, his friendship, his brilliant mind, it was all offered to him and eagerly accepted. Even his body, his blood, his bared neck. It's all Hannibal's for the taking.

Then, Will cups his chin and tilts his head up, making their eyes meet and lock again.

"I won't make you promise not to turn on me," he says, and Hannibal frowns, wants to argue, wants to say that he would never, he would _never_ , but Will lifts his chin, and he remains silent. "But if you decide, at any point, that this isn't what you want, and you try to hurt me or our child, I will kill you."

At that, Hannibal smiles. "I would expect no less, darling," he purrs, and Will's eyes flash, darken, his gaze drops to Hannibal's upturned mouth and then rises again. "All I need from you, all I have ever needed from you, is your loyalty and love. Give me that, and I will see you want for nothing."

Will hums, and tilts his head, and leans in to steal another kiss. It feels like a contract, sealed by the press of Will's soft lips, the clutch of his fingers around Hannibal's throat. "I accept," he purrs, and slides forward on his seat so Hannibal is given a fresh breath of him; his warmth, his slick, the taste of wine on his tongue.

Hannibal growls, rising to his feet, and cups Will's neck when Will gasps and goes tense in front of him. "I love you, Will," he says, and Will's eyes shine, are wide and thickly marked with gold when he meets Hannibal's gaze.

Will smiles. He rarely says it back, but Will is not one to mince words. If he didn't love Hannibal, he wouldn't be here. He bites his lower lip, lashes dipping down, and pushes himself to his feet for another kiss. Hannibal's hand finds its way to Will's hair, knotting in those lovely, wild curls, tugging him close.

"Mm, no," Will purrs, and pushes at his chest when Hannibal's free hand drags down with more intent. "Not until I go into heat."

Hannibal blinks, and tilts his head. Yes, Will has never been one to indulge in frivolous pleasures, but when he's slick and wanting he has never denied himself Hannibal, either. Will smiles, and says, "I only intend to go into heat once, Hannibal. I won't have you wasting anything before that."

Hannibal swallows back his growl, instinctively outraged at the idea of his mate denying Hannibal rightful claim to his body. But he is more than his instincts, and delights in Will's cruelty, and his passion. The promise of Will's heat stays his tongue, gentles his teeth.

He nods, and takes Will's hand, and kisses his knuckles. "Whatever you desire, my love," he says, and he means it, and Will's eyes flash with pleasure, purring and fine and so beautiful, Hannibal could draw him for a thousand years and never quite capture how absolutely stunning Will is when he smiles like that.

"Now," he says, and nods to the table, "shall I bring out dessert?"

Will nods, and lifts his chin, not demanding a kiss, but Hannibal could never refuse him. He leans in and licks, tastes Will, embraces him tightly and shivers when Will lets out a single, low sound of desire against his lips as their kiss deepens.

When they must part for air, Hannibal's eyes itch with red, and Will's have hardly any blue left to them. He clears his throat, sits, and corrects his chair. "Dessert sounds wonderful," he says.

Hannibal smiles, pets through Will's hair once more – an indulgence of his own – and goes to fetch their plates.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr post:  
> https://idontfindyouthatinteresting.co.uk/post/185685540620/a-keepsake-by-highermagic-as-alpha-when-theyd  
> https://idontfindyouthatinteresting.co.uk/post/185685576320/lure-inspired-by-a-keepsake-by-highermagic-for  
> https://idontfindyouthatinteresting.co.uk/post/185685718780/idontfindyouthatinteresting-hannibal-abo-big
> 
> Twitter:  
> https://twitter.com/IDFYTI/status/1141076381746507776


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